


Drunk Enough

by deadinderry



Category: Megadeth, Metallica
Genre: Drug-Induced Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 04:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19995568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadinderry/pseuds/deadinderry
Summary: So this kid--he's either dopey or on something or both, but either way, he's pretty, and Dave is definitely drunk enough. Pre-KEA; pre-Cliff, even.





	Drunk Enough

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know.

So Dave is drunk enough to be right smack dab in the middle of pissed and horny, like he wants to fuck something and when he says fuck something, he really _means_ fuck something. He’s outside of the bar, on the sidewalk, because it was fucking _hot_ in there, and James was being a bitch, so he didn’t want to be around him anymore, so now he was outside, and he still had a beer.

And he wanted to fuck something.

And then maybe rip its head off and fucking eat it.

Like a praying mantis, or whatever.

There are a couple guys hanging out near him that he vaguely recognizes. He’s pretty sure they also have a band. One of them is real small and girly-looking, like, in the low light, if you didn’t realize kid was a dude, you’d be in for a surprise once you got the pants off. He’s smallish; short and skinny, curly black hair. Grinning like a dope and giggling like crazy. The guy he’s with seems pretty amused with him, and Dave doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but he figures it’s time to either go back into the bar or find a new one, so he tries to sneak past, and that’s when Dopey McMight-Be-A-Chick stumbles backward and falls into him.

Falls straight into his arms.

Dave catches on instinct.

“Oh—oh, _shit,_ ” Dopey says. He’s still grinning. Dave hasn’t dropped him. Yet. He looks up at Dave. “Oh man. Oh man, sorry. Sorry. Fuck.”

“It’s fine,” Dave says. He props the kid up, sort of; keeps a grip on him, but now the kid’s on his feet, at least.

“You look familiar?” the kid says. “Are you—do you—band?”

“Metallica,” Dave says. “I’m Dave.”

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, Metallica. I’m Kirk. I’m in a band. Exodus. Exodus is my band. And I just—” Kirk twists a little bit, and sees that his friends are gone. “And I just got abandoned by my band. I play guitar. You’re—you’re a guitarist, too.”

He states it more than asks it.

“Yep,” Dave says. He’s still sober enough for this to be amusing in a weird sort of way, because Kirk is definitely all kinds of fucked up. Either that or he really is a dope. He does know Exodus. He’s pretty sure he’s seen this kid play. He’s not like, terrible or anything. Exodus isn’t like, terrible or anything. Metallica’s better and Dave is better, but that’s pretty much to be expected. All Metallica needs is a better bass player and they’ll be on the charts in no time.

Kirk fumbles with something and puts something in his mouth and then offers to Dave. It’s acid.

Dave is not normally one to turn down free drugs. But Dave wants to fuck this kid right about now, and he wants to feel the fuck in the right way. Not the acid way. Not the tripping balls way. He’s fucked that way before and man, drugs are drugs and sex is sex but right now he’d be fine with fucking this kid fueled on booze.

And not that even _much_ booze.

He tightens his grip on the kid. Kirk is pretty willing. Then again, he’s fucked on up God-knows-what and also for definite acid, and obviously the kid is not violent when he’s fucked up, because he wriggles a little but doesn’t struggle when Dave starts pulling him down the street. He says a few things that don’t make any fucking sense, and at this point Dave is pretty sure that the kid is both a dope and fucked up on whatever, but he’s a _pretty_ dope and Dave really wants to fuck him.

Ron’s got the van parked a block and a half away, and Dave’s actually kind of glad that he’s heading for it when Dave pulls Kirk up. “I need the van,” he says.

“Hi,” Kirk says.

Dave puts a hand over his mouth. Ron just looks at him. “I need the van,” Dave says again.

Ron looks like he’s going to argue, and then he sighs and shakes his head. “Whatever,” he says. “Don’t move it. Please. I don’t wanna go on a fucking quest tomorrow morning before work.”

Ron tosses him the keys and walks off.

Yeah, Ron being a total pussy pushover is nice, but they really need a better bass player. Maybe they can keep him on as a roadie or something. That’s pretty much all he is at this point anyway.

So Dave opens up the van and pushes Kirk in. Kirk lands on his elbows, in with trash and picks and Ron’s bass. He looks around at everything with his lips parted, just a little. Dave climbs in after him and shuts the door. The only light they’ve got is the streetlights coming in through the windows, but that’s enough.

He unbuckles Kirk’s belt and pulls his pants down. They’re tight enough that the underwear come with.

Kirk twists a little. “Holyshit—” is all that Dave can make out before he grabs Kirk’s face and kisses him so hard that he can feel just how fucked up this kid’s teeth are. Kirk’s pretty pretzeled up now; he’s face-down from the waist down, but Dave’s jerked him up enough that he’s face up shoulders-on-up. Kirk scrabbles for something, one of his hands landing on the van’s flooring and the other one finding its way up to Dave’s hair. “You’re on _fire_ ,” he says, his voice all breathy and wavery. “Fucking _fire._ ”

Translation: Dave’s a redhead, and there are streetlights outside.

So this is the first time Dave’s fucked a dude, though Kirk’s pretty enough that it might not count, but a hole is a hole, and he wants to _ruin_ this kid, he wants this kid to wake up tomorrow in this van and want to die he’s so sore and marked up, so he pushes Kirk’s shoulders down, pushes his face into the bottom of the van with one hand, and unbuckles his own pants with the other. Kirk is making all of the right noises. And his hands are scrabbling for purchase on the van’s flooring in the entirely right way. One of his hands finds a pick and he holds onto that for dear life.

If this wasn’t making Dave hard as a fucking rock already, the fact that he is about to fuck some little pretty-boy guitarist in the back of his own shitty bassist’s van would. Dave pushes his pants down as fast as he can. Kirk’s he’s pushed to the ankles, because they’re tight and Dave needs to be able to get _in,_ but once Dave’s got his cock free he leaves it well enough alone. He lets go of Kirk’s face so that he can grip onto his hips with both hands, digging his fingernails hard into the soft skin right over Kirk’s hipbones (because Kirk is fucking _soft_ ), and, fucking hell, no going back from this, fucking goes for it.

Kirk shrieks. Dave does not know if it’s possible to fuck the acid out of somebody, but he might have. But Kirk doesn’t seem like, mad about it—just like he was surprised. Because now that Dave’s in there, he can see that Kirk’s got tears pooling up by his nose, there’s a little glint from the streetlights, and he can hear Kirk breathing, but the breathing is that rough breathy kind, you know, the kind that’s almost a moan. And Kirk’s pushing back into him.

That’s the thing. Kirk’s not trying to get away.

Dave moves in and out of Kirk like Kirk’s some chick he picked up. Maybe he’s being a little rougher than normal, or maybe it just feels like it’s rougher because an asshole really doesn’t have natural lube to it, even a little bit, and Kirk’s moans are of the variety of… Dave can’t tell if they’re of pain or pleasure. He thinks both.

Kirk’s wearing this band t-shirt that he tore the sleeves off of, and Dave, after he’s buried himself so far in Kirk’s asshole that Kirk let out this choked kind of ‘ _fuck_ ’, Dave leans forward and bites down hard on the side of Kirk’s neck. Kirk’s eyes close, a little, and Dave moves his hands up from Kirk’s hips to his arms, gripping him tight enough to bruise. “Fucking prettyboy,” Dave mutters, after he takes his teeth out of Kirk’s neck. Kirk makes some unintelligible noise, and Dave figures he’s got about one more thrust before he blows his load. He runs his fingernails up and down Kirk’s arms and bites hard onto Kirk’s earlobe before moving back to finish his business. His fingernails find the crescents they made on his hipbones and Dave, with a moan of his own, pulls back and slams so hard into Kirk that Kirk, who pushes himself up a little bit, because the kid doesn’t want to break contact with Dave for anything, and also Dave might have helped with the fingernails in his hipbones, is right back on his face, at least an inch farther forward than he was. And Dave fucking comes.

He untangles himself and Kirk, whose face is turned to the side, flickers his eyes up to him. And Dave brushes hair away from his face, sees the markings he made on Kirk’s earlobe and neck and arms, knows the kind of damage he did to Kirk’s lower half, and smirks. He doesn’t know if Kirk came. He doesn’t really care all the much.

“Thanks, Exodus,” he says. And he pulls up his pants, buttons up, and hops out.

He could go for a drink.

* * *

Kirk wakes up in the back of a van feeling all sorts of fucked up. For one, he’s not sure what the fuck he was drinking and taking last night, because he’s never sure, but also, he’s in a van, and there’s a guitar pick clutched so hard in his left hand that it feels embedded there, and also, oh yeah, it feels very much like he got fucked in the ass last night.

Like, the whole, his pants are around his ankles and his asshole is on fire and his hips ache like hell. He’s fucking sore.

Also, he’s in a moving van.

Did he mention that he is a moving van.

Honestly, this freaks him out more than the possibly being ass-fucked does. Because if he got ass-fucked, he can deal with that. As someone who’s jerked off to more than one dude, it was probably going to happen at some point. If he’s gotten ass-fucked and then kidnapped, well.

That’s not.

Great.

He turns his head so he can see the driver. It’s some guy. He looks pretty familiar. “Hey,” Kirk says. His voice is really creaky. He clears his throat and tries again. “Hey.”

The guy glances back at him. “Oh, good, Dave didn’t kill you,” he says.

“Dave?”

“I’m Ron. Metallica?”

That’s why the guy looked familiar. Which means…

“Did Mean-Dave-from-Metallica fuck me in the ass last night?”

Ron snorts. “Yeah, I’m assuming so,” he says. “Mean Dave. Fuck. Don’t let him hear you say that, or he’ll kick your ass next time instead of fucking it. Christ.”

“Uh,” Kirk says, deciding to move past the fact that not only did he get fucked in the ass last night, it was Mean Dave From Metallica who did it, because he’s got bigger stuff to worry about. “Where are we?”

“On my way to work,” Ron says. “I was hoping you’d wake up so I could drop you off somewhere. A little weird to show up to work with a half-naked guy in the back, but I wasn’t about to move you.”

Suddenly self-conscious, Kirk pulls his pants up as fast as he can. “Thanks,” he says. He pushes himself up to, at least, sit. He’s still got the pick, and he holds onto it for now and peers out the window. “Uh, okay, if you take a right up here…”


End file.
